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Could her skin be as soft as it looks?
Would she allow my touch or shrink away?
She stares at me as if coaxing me to come forward and find out.
“By the way,” Atticus says, “Truman hacked into the hospital’s personnel records to access Rosemarie’s file.”
“I don’t like Truman going through her things.” Yeah, I’m the hypocrite complaining about invasion of her privacy when I’m lurking outside the hospital.
“He’s one of our few allies left, and the only gargoyle who came to visit us while we were serving out our stone sentence.”
“Because he’s as much of an outcast as we are. Whatever Truman did to get his wings clipped had to be bad.” The thought of a life without flight makes me shudder. “I don’t trust him.” Especially not with Rosemarie. Gods, she’s perfect. Her dark eyes beckon me closer, and I would give anything to know what she’s thinking.
I don’t know how Atticus can concentrate with her this close, but he continues as if he’s completely unaffected. “Truman supported us because he knows what it’s like when the gargoyle elders pass down unfair rulings. We would’ve served a fate worse than his if the others who had candidates in the queen trials had gotten their way. We’d have been killed if the elders had listened to Cutter.”
The scarred candidate Diviner whose job mirrors ours—find the best possible future queen—screamed for our execution instead of an exiled existence stuck in stone. “Everyone knows Cutter’s a jackass who is jealous of the cursed prophecy.” The one I fucked up. “Only that bully would envy a lie disguised as some kind of divine message.”
“The prophecy’s true. Rosemarie will fulfill it, and the elders granted us a reprieve because of our father, not because they thought Cutter was wrong.”
“Rosemarie shouldn’t be forced into a prophecy made long before her birth.”
“We were forced into it before we were carved. Why should she be any different?” Atticus asks. “And we’ll need every ally, so don’t let your own issues get in the way of Truman helping us. According to what he found in her file, Rosemarie’s work with the hospice unit ends when she finishes this shift. She’ll be done here with no hope of a permanent position.”
“That’s impossible.” Disbelief has me forgetting my dislike of Truman to focus on what he discovered. “The hospital bosses would be idiots not to offer her a full-time position.”
“They find her qualifications lacking.”
“That’s ridiculous. She’s the best worker they have.” A more important realization hits, and I long to wrap her in my wings and comfort her. “Rosemarie must be devastated.”
“No matter. She’ll be queen soon.”
The hurt in her eyes, the loneliness that reminds me of my own? It kills me. I’m fumbling for another reason to give Atticus to spare her, tripping over my own tongue, when Rosemarie spins toward the hospital bed, putting her back to us.
She touches her patient’s wrist and neck, checking for a pulse before stroking a hand over the man’s hair and closing his eyes. Her patient has crossed the Bridge of Souls. Rosemarie’s shoulders slump and her head drops as if the weight of grief and fatigue of all her work slams into her. I want to go to her, to comfort her, to not scare the ever-living shit out of her with my monstrous version of tenderness. She closes the blinds, stealing away our ability to watch her.
This woman gives everything to others, and I’ve nothing to offer her but more tragedy.
“You staying here through the day?” Atticus asks. “To catch up on your cartoons?”
I start to argue and then change my mind. I don’t need to explain myself to him. “You should try it. The kids in the pediatric wing watch an animated version of us that’s not bad. Completely unrealistic and with none of the Borderlands, but it’s entertaining.”
“I will never understand your fascination with their television shows.”
“You’ll wish you’d caught up on the last century or so when you’re trying to talk with Rosemarie.”
“I read.”
I snort. “Yeah. Quote some old philosophy bullshit to her. I’m sure that’ll win her heart.”
“I don’t need to win her heart.” Judging by the change in his tone and his hesitation, he’s lying. I know it. But he keeps talking, and I can’t decide if he’s trying to convince me or himself. “I simply need her to win the crown and take her rightful place as queen.”
Did my twin learn nothing from my colossal failure? “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” I settle in to wait. “It’s worth staying to watch Rosemarie leave.”
Atticus glances toward the east where the sky bleeds to grey in the distance. “Sunrise will be here soon. How much trouble can one human find before then?”
If only my twin could use that big brain of his to learn to keep his damn mouth shut.
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